


School

by Haunted_Moonlight, Vilteofhope



Series: Rain [6]
Category: Antisepticeye - Fandom, Darkiplier - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Also contains some triggers later so read at your own risk, Basically an origin story for the demons we know and love, But everything is awful, Dark is a jackass, Darkiplier - Freeform, Does not follow the WKM cannon, Historic fiction, Like abuse, M/M, Some of this history might be a bit controversial so beware, Yes it is Danti, antisepticeye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 10:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haunted_Moonlight/pseuds/Haunted_Moonlight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilteofhope/pseuds/Vilteofhope
Summary: Halloween was the point that horrified everyone, when a demon took control of a popular youtuber and forced him to slit his own throat. Valentine's Day had everyone shook at the emergence of a whole new entity that was just as much on par. But instead of focusing in on the horrors of now, it's time to go back. Back to see who these demons once were, back to see their stories. Not all things are quite as they seem. Part three of the Rain series.





	School

**_September 1914 - Dublin, Ireland_ **

 

“Anti- _Anti_ , we’re heading out,” Dark announced, staring down at the Irishman. It was three and a half weeks later-three weeks to get the latter out of the clear of disease and infection as well as a few extra days fully heal up the leg wound and allow him to regain his strength. But when the Irishman didn’t quite stir from the sofa, the American narrowed reddish-brown eyes at him and grabbed a handful of the blanket, yanking it harshly away to expose the other man’s body to the early September air and causing it to curl in on itself just a bit.

“ _Get. Up._ ” Dark’s words were short and clipped, impatience and warning managing to seethe its way through those two simple words. But then the man sucked in a deep breath and smoothed his suit a bit to calm himself and stabilize his facade-although his tone was still rough. “We’re going to be late.”

Anti’s green eyes opened sleepily, blinking up at him before pushing himself up into a sitting position and using a half-closed fist to try and rub the sleep out. “Late?” he repeated. “Where are we going?”

When the other man opted to shuffle through some documents in hand rather than actually reply, Anti sighed, swinging his legs around to settle on the cold hardwood floor. Tentatively he rose, sucking in a sharp breath and immediately shifting his weight over to his right leg, residual echoing pain and weakness being a grim reminder of the wound that was once there. He didn’t quite notice the eyes that had stopped to watch him, to follow him as he limped over to the dresser where the mirror and a large washbowl was. As the Irishman stared at his appearance in the mirror, he still scarcely recognized the face that stared back.

A skinny, scrawny frame that would be slender even if healthy and well-nourished, skin that-once the layers of grime were washed away-was as pale as porcelain, dusted by a light freckling on the bridge of the nose and cheeks. Sharp cheekbones had seemingly receded just a little bit over the course of the weeks as his face was starting to look a little less sunken than it did initially. His seventeen year-old face still lacked anything of a real stubble but soft, feathery brown hair laid flat over his head. Bangs drifted into eyes that were a bit too far apart to be traditionally handsome, but the emerald green coloration was what made them stand out. He liked to think they were what often gave passersby pause when he was silent, and not his dirty pathetic state curled up on the Dublin street as an exemplary worst-case scenario. Although Dark refused to say anything about them, he’d caught the older man staring on more than one occasion, giving him the tiniest swell of pride and smugness.

The Irishman took a couple of minutes to clean his face and button up a white shirt that was easily too big for him. His own clothes hadn’t just been discouraged, they’d been tossed within the first couple of days of his arrival-apparently Dark didn’t approve of the the patched rags he’d arrived in. It was an oddly off-putting sensation: on one hand, the clothes he was borrowing from Dark now were much better than what he had originally (although shoes were still a lost cause; Dark absolutely had nothing that would fit his small feet). On the other, now he really did have nothing, not even the clothes on his own back were his. And he wasn’t even getting started on the thought that finding himself in the other’s clothes meant he’d been exposed and dressed by the other in his sleep. Just the _beginnings_ of that thought brought a heat to the back of his neck, which he quickly dulled with the washrag and then wiped dry by the towel before he turned to look back at Dark.

“Ready,” he replied. His voice-his main pride aside from his eyes-was still a bit rough from sleep and recovery from the flu, but it was infinitely better than it was by leaps and bounds.

Dark looked back up from the documents in his hand and nodded, moving to stick them in a briefcase and grab something from the end table, tucking it into his suit. He made his way over to the door and pulled it open, waiting until Anti limped out before closing the door behind them and locking it.

He’d learned a while back that this was actually a hotel on Winetavern Street-owned by some kind elderly couple, the Mulligans-and was vaguely familiar with the area as it wasn’t too terribly far from the Grattan Bridge and then just a few blocks north from crossing over, his usual haunt on Cumberland Street. The man with him, in spite of his swift pace, seemed substantially less certain (although stubbornly unwilling to admit it as his eyes glanced around, seeming to pay extra, lingering attention on street signs) and it quickly became clear that he probably hadn’t been in Dublin for very long.

Finally Anti let out a small sigh of impatience as he felt frustration and weariness gradually creep through him, having nearly walked for forty minutes to an hour. It was at this point he spoke.

“You know, if you’d just tell me where we were going, I could probably easily lead the way,” he pointed out. As the reddish eyes flickered back to look at him, he continued, “I don’t know what other use you would actually have for me beyond familiarity of this place. Dublin is my _home_. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

Dark seemed to pause as they stood on the street corner before finally replying, “St. Enda’s.”

Anti’s mouth dropped for a moment before he shook his head. “We’re walking all the way down _there?!_ That’s a little over an hour and a half on a good day, just _one_ way!” Not that it would be much of an issue back in July, back in early August. But that was when his leg was still decent. Four weeks bedridden and coming out with a limp and he was already exhausted, doubting they’d actually walked more than forty or so minutes at this point. They weren’t even halfway there.

As Dark continued to eye him, Anti noticed the man straighten up his suit just slightly-an odd tick the man had whenever he seemed tense-before his lip curled in judgement and he took a few paces forward to lift a hand and hail a cab. Anti felt a wave of relief wash over him and-in total honesty-a tingle of excitement. He’d seen them plenty, but he’d never been in a automobile before. The American slid easily into the passenger’s seat once the cab had pulled up-briefly he wondered just how common these were in America, how frequently Dark might’ve used them back home-while he climbed into the backseat and settled there. It was warm and a little bit stuffy in the cab but he paid it no real mind as he stared out the smog-dusted window, watching as the world passed by at a faster pace than he could’ve ever walked.

As they drove along, the cab driver chattered on with a heightened interest upon realizing Dark’s origin, asking them questions and attempting to strike up conversation. Although Dark’s responses were smooth and easy, Anti didn’t miss how evasive they were more often than not.

“So you’re enrolling the lad with you into St. Enda’s, I take?”

The question struck Anti with a small jolt when he realized the question was about _him_ . And now he truly wanted to know the answer to this too, because such a question never even came close to drifting into his mind. Him? In a _school?_ He’d never had so much as a formal education in his life, the closest to anything of the sort being the clergy at the church just down the way from the brothel his mother worked at. But...but he was a bit too old for most schools at this point, wasn't he? He certainly doubted he was at a level of formal education that any school would be expecting him at...

Seeming to notice Anti’s look in the corner of his eye, Dark scoffed.

“The boy is too old to be enrolled into anywhere beyond maybe a factory,” he replied, ignoring the quickly-crushed hope in green eyes and the sting that flitted across Anti’s face. “Mr. Pearse is just a personal acquaintance, nothing more.”

And with that the subject was mostly dropped, the only lingering aspects being the driver’s remarks of the man in question, of the school, of recent events and how frequently it all seemed intertwined and the rumors surrounding it. Dark listened to it all intently, brushing it all off from time to time with assurances that rumors were probably only just that: rumors. By the time they’d reached the school roughly a little over a half hour later though, Anti noticed with just the right angling that the American’s fingers were curled around the edge of his jacket as if wanting to straighten it but thinking otherwise. As they pulled up into the driveway, Dark’s hand fell away from the garment, some of the tension in his shoulders released and although he was trying to remain casual, it was clear he couldn’t leave the vehicle fast enough. After making sure his briefcase was firmly in hand, his eyes flickered to Anti with obvious notes of irritation and a barely-suppressed glare, as if silently blaming him for the forced conversation, for the experience in general. And really, it was, Anti wasn’t about to deny it-but he also wasn’t going to deny that it was the right call and had little regret at the choice. The bare foot to his good leg touched down onto the ground beneath him as he stepped out of the vehicle and he carefully took a couple limped paces from the vehicle before shutting the heavy metal door behind him.

The stone building before them was large and imposing, surrounded by an expansive green yard. By this point it was clear they’d caught the attention of some of the residents, as curtains moved and faces peered out the windows to eye them curiously. He shifted slightly but looked back up at them almost challengingly, keeping his head high and almost daring them to judge. Seeming to notice this, Dark gave him a look.

“You are to remain silent,” he stated. From the tone in his voice as the cab drove off, his words were less advice than they were warning. “Do not wander off. Do not speak unless spoken to-”

“What are we even _doing_ here-?” Anti questioned, curiosity clear in his face.

“Do not ask _questions_. As far as anyone knows, we were never actually here.”

Anti bit his lip and frowned as he eyed Dark, but his attention was stolen away as the front door swung open and a man stepped out, dressed in a suit with glasses worn over kind, twinkling eyes.

“Ah, _f_ _áilte_ _!_ ” he greeted, but upon seeing Anti, he added, “ _Tá fáilte romhaibh agus dia is Muire dhaoibh!_ ”

Dark immediately swung a look to Anti that silently ordered for translation, but the latter quickly shook his head with eyes slightly wide and face reddened with embarrassment at his failure to comprehend such rapid fluidity in his own native tongue. So instead Dark turned to the exuberant man with a smile that was unusually awkward. “Ah-sorry. Even amongst my associates and I, I’m afraid Irish isn’t a language very commonly spoken in Brooklyn.”

The man raised a hand and shook his head. “I understand, it’s an unfortunate reality that _Gaeilge_ is a diminishing language, even in its own country.” Although there was no intent to embarrass, no accusation, Anti could feel the man’s eyes flicker towards him; he could feel himself shrink a little in response. “Well, it’s an issue among many that I hope to rectify with future generations.” He gestured to the school, then looked back at Dark, offering a hand. “And you must be Mr. O’Donnell, I take?”

Dark nodded, moving to firmly shake his hand as he quickly eased back into his element. “You’d be right,” he replied, and within no more than three seconds did the sneering, judging man Anti had grown so accustomed to seem to transform into another person entirely, so fast the young Irishman had to do a doubletake. With the charming expression on his face and now in his tone, Dark let his hand drop. “I take it you’re Mr. Pearse?”

“Padraig is fine,” the bespectacled man assured with a grin. “After all, there are two Mr. Pearses here. My brother Willie happens to be one of the instructors-” Turning to Anti, he added, “And who might you be?”

Anti shifted just slightly, not missing the look in Dark’s eyes as the only break in his amiable facade. “Anti,” he replied, suddenly feeling a bit more awkward than he cared to admit. People paying him any attention whatsoever was unusual. People paying him _genuine kindness_ was practically unheard of. “Just Anti.”

“Just Anti-?” Padraig began, but was interrupted by Dark.

“Anti is my guide around Dublin and very recently became my charge,” he explained. “I realize that he’s an unexpected attendant and I apologize for not sending word in advance. However I can promise you that he’ll behave on your premises-”

Padraig waved a hand in dismissal at the reassurance, although his eyes were doing a sweep of Anti’s thin form, seeming to take note of his bare feet and too-large clothes. “I’m sure he won’t indulge himself in any mischief that falls into the realm of inappropriate,” he replied. Anti bit his lip and nodded, letting his eyes flicker to Dark as he did. The tense undertone didn’t seem to be missed by the older Irishman, so he cleared his throat and waved to the building. “Ah-but enough standing out here. I believe we have some business to work out, you and I.”

Dark nodded, moving to follow Padraig into the building and giving Anti the smallest gesture to attend. Anti pulled his attention from their surroundings-it was all so distracting, so different from the dirty slums of north Dublin-and limped after them, entering into the foyer where the group stopped.

“Mr. O’Donnell, if you wouldn’t mind, I propose we take this discussion to my office-” Padraig began, to which Dark nodded. “My mother can attend to Anti in the meantime. It would certainly keep him out of the trouble you so certainly seem concerned about.”

Dark hesitated for only a split second as his reddish eyes glanced over at Anti, but that charming smile was quickly back in full to replace any hesitation it might’ve held prior. “Of course. So long as your mother doesn’t mind, it sounds like a win for everybody.”

“Nonsense, she would _insist._ I would never hear the end of it if she wasn’t introduced,” Padraig chuckled. “Wait here, I’ll only be a moment.” The man disappeared through a door and headed off; it wasn’t until he was clear of the area that Dark’s smile immediately fell.

“...Okay seriously, _what_ are we doing here?” Anti whispered.

“Didn’t I tell you no questions?” Dark grumbled with hints of a growl behind the tone.

Anti swallowed, glancing back over at the door before looking back over at Dark. “What do I do?” he pressed, figuring that much would be safe enough to ask. After all, he wasn’t even sure at this point what the _hell_ he’d gotten himself into, much less what Dark was here to achieve.

Dark was silent for a moment as he eyed the doorway as well. “Just focus on being a good boy and be as polite with them as possible,” he instructed. He then paused before adding, “ _If you have any complaints, especially about me, then I expect you to put those ‘acting’ skills you bragged about to good use. You will tell them that you and everything else is_ **_fine_ ** **.** _”_

The Irishman tensed slightly and gulped but nodded, doing his best to relax when Padraig returned to the room with a bustling older woman. “Mr. O’Donnell, Anti, this is my mother, Margaret. Mother, this is Mr. O’Donnell and his charge, Anti.”

“It’s certainly a pleasure to meet you,” Dark greeted smoothly, moving to take Margaret’s hand and give it a light kiss. “I hope we’re not causing too much of an interruption in your day-”

“Nonsense, nonsense. I hope the trip here wasn’t too much trouble-America is so far away, after all. Padraig has been considering making the trip sometime this year, but we haven’t yet decided,” Margaret replied. She then turned her attention to Anti. “So, Anti, hm? I haven’t heard of a name like that before.”

“It’s...short for something,” Anti replied, again thrown immediately off-kilter by the family’s kindness, trying to keep his head held high and at the same time feeling a slight rise of embarrassment at his real name, especially at it being pointed out. He could feel her taking in his state, just as Padraig did, and shifted slightly while clearing his throat.

The noise seemed to snap Margaret from her observations and she pulled her eyes from his bare feet to look up at him with a kind, sympathetic smile. “Well, come, follow me. Why don’t we leave these two to their business, hm?”

Anti nodded slightly, casting one final glance to Dark before being led off down the hallway and knowing he absolutely looked as awkward as he felt.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe they gave you a change of clothes,” Dark noted flatly, staring at his companion as Anti tugged a bit at his sleeve, limping along after him in their quest to find a taxi.

“Margaret said they had several clothing pieces that’d been left behind by alumni,” Anti explained with a small shrug. “It isn’t a big deal.”

Well, okay, that was a lie. It sort of _was_ a big deal, because now he finally had some clothing that not only fit him, but clothing he could actually call his very own. And on top of that…

On top of that, now he actually had _shoes_.

“I have my doubts the shoes were among those clothing pieces,” Dark pointed out, seeming disgruntled by the whole thing. Anti frowned.

“You’re pissed, aren’tcha?” He tilted his head, eyeing the American. “ _Why?_ This way I don’t have to borrow your clothes or...or look shabby as fuck-”

“I don’t want you thinking of them as your friends, Anti,” Dark suddenly interrupted, giving him a narrow-eyed look that bordered on a glare. “Anything you need, _I_ will provide. The people at St. Enda’s are associates in business and nothing more. I don’t want you going there without me or even _speaking_ with them without my permission. Do you understand me?”

Anti blinked, staring at him with wide eyes before his brows furrowed a bit. “What business are we even talking about?” he questioned.

“Anti-”

“No, I’m serious. You definitely don’t strike me as a teacher-”

“ _Anti-_ ”

“And you’re here all the way from America? Seriously, what sort of business would you have with a school like St. Enda’s-?”

“ _Ashanti!”_

The last word came out in a hiss, and now the Irishman tensed upon realizing that now Dark actually was glaring at him, reddish eyes flashing like little infernos. In no time at all the taller man crossed whatever short distance there was between them, his hand tightly gripping Anti’s shirt to pull him close and up, forcing the other into an uncomfortable position practically on the balls of his feet. His face twisted into a snarl. Whatever charming gentleman that did business back at St. Enda’s had disappeared to the point of almost unrecognizable.

“ _What did I say about no questions?_ ”

Anti’s breath caught at the growled question, staring up at the American with wide green orbs as they reflected his surprise at the sudden change. As the red burned into his green, he finally swallowed, not daring to look away as he replied in a small voice, “Not to ask them.”

Dark continued to stare at him for a minute longer before his grip finally loosened, allowing the Irishman’s feet to settle flat again, then pulled his hand away from the fabric entirely. He drew in a deep breath, moving to straighten his suit.

“Good. It would do you well to take that to heart,” he remarked. “And about St. Enda’s…?”

“Not to go there without you. Not to speak to them without your say so.” Anti’s voice was low now, borderline sulking as he frowned, head lowering a bit-not just in submission, but humiliation at the fear he’d just allowed to slip.

Dark eyed him for a moment before his lips suddenly twisted up into a small, triumphant grin. “Good.” He reached over to give Anti’s hair a tiny ruffle, not missing the way the other’s body tensed just a bit and the pink that rose up into his freckled cheeks, the way his head seemed to push up just a fraction like a cat begging to be pet. “You’re learning. Let’s keep on that track, shall we?”

“Sure,” Anti mumbled. He felt the fingers tighten a bit in his brunette strands and twist them-enough to draw a tiny wince-as Dark bent down just slightly to look him in the eyes, grin somewhat faded now and a dangerous look in his eyes.

“ _What was that?_ ”

“Yes, Dark.”

The grin returned and the American gave his head a tiny shove downward before pulling away. “Good. And you say I don’t seem much like a teacher.” He cleared his throat, looking around. “We skipped breakfast. Let’s find some lunch before heading home.”

The Irishman nodded a tiny bit, moving to tread along behind him now in sullen silence, but unable to deny the siren promise of food. _Just like the fuckin’ stray I am,_ he thought bitterly with hands shoved into pockets and fingers curling and uncurling into fists as his green eyes stared down at the ground beneath him.

Well. At least now he knew what he suspected was accurate, what the hell that intensity was that constantly simmered just beneath the surface of the other man.

 _Rage_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, so that's part three of the Rain series, Dark is progressively becoming more of a jackass...and just a heads up, things are only gonna go downhill from here. Ah, but okay, so lesson time, since we do have a historical aspect to this story! So St. Enda's was a school for boys founded by the Pearse family in 1908, known for fierce promotion of the Gaelic revival and major emphasis on arts, dramatics, and had many classes actually taught in Gaeilge. It had a sister school for girls, but as there were constant funding issues, it was unable to stay open. Although Enda's was able to stay open for a bit longer, problems were only made worse with the eventual loss of the headmaster, Padraig Pearse, and his brother Willie, and in 1935, the school was eventually shut down for good. It now stands today as a museum in Dublin County. As for Padraig Pearse, he was not only the headmaster of the school, but also a teacher and poet who took up a position of leadership in the Irish Volunteers and the Irish Republican Brotherhood (simply put, in its barest form-Irish nationalists). Unsurprisingly, many of the students and former students of Enda's ended up joining up with the various nationalist groups. This likely won't be the last time we see Pearse, or at least hear of him, so keep a lookout. But in the meantime, thanks so much for all your support so far, I'll try and keep this story as unbiased as possible-but just remember the perspective of the characters this is all coming from! But anyway! If you liked it, drop a kudo, drop a comment, and I'll be seeing you all in the next chapter. Until then!


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